


Coward

by afleetoffoxes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Big Brave Doyle, Drabble, M/M, Pre Season 13, post season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afleetoffoxes/pseuds/afleetoffoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donald Doyle was a coward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coward

**Author's Note:**

> This is a drabble written to get myself comfortable with Loyle before I started on full fics.
> 
> It is written for [Les](http://loyle-trash.tumblr.com), the newest love of my life and the one who introduced me to Loyle. Thanks for that rare pair, love <3

Donald Doyle was a coward. No, he wasn’t a soldier. Yes, he was scared. Yes, he was just trying to do his best. But Doyle wasn’t naïve. Locus was a murderer. How he hadn’t realized it sooner was far beyond him. Of course, Locus had been a mercenary and, of course, he was there to kill everyone on the planet. It was just Doyle’s luck and he really should have realized it sooner.

He’d been blind and he had trusted Locus. Doyle had felt a certain sort of camaraderie with the green and grey mercenary. He’d taken meals with him. He’d walked with him. He’d slept with him. Well, not _with_ him but definitely in the same space as him.

Locus had been the strong shoulder Doyle needed to lean when he didn’t think he was a competent leader. If he began to doubt himself, to break down, Locus was there to put the pieces back together. It was a comfort Doyle hadn’t realized he’d grown used to. 

No. He wasn’t used to it.

He needed it.

He needed Locus’ strong, quiet nature. It soothed and calmed Doyle’s quivering, cowardly soul. He was Doyle’s other half.

Doyle slumped in his chair, looking around at his office. How had everything gone downhill so quickly? Locus and Felix had escaped, Tucker was still healing from the knife wound in his stomach, and the New Republic was moving into his home. 

So much had happened so fast and Doyle was still reeling. He hated to say it but he missed Locus. The merc had been like a shadow, following Doyle, watching him. It should have been creepy – he realized now that it was probably to keep the General under Locus’ thumb – but it had seemed to Doyle like a security blanket. No matter what went wrong, Locus was there.

He remembered a simple time a month or so back, before everything had gone to hell, even before the Reds and Blues had landed. They’d still been at war with the New Republic but it had been a quiet few days without fighting. Doyle had broken down. He’d left his quarters with no warning and walked through Armonia without anyone so much as batting an eye. They probably thought he was going off to do something for the army but he shuffled off to that secret spot he liked, the one that gave the lovely view of Chorus, that was just far enough away from the responsibilities.

He wasn’t brave enough to take his own life, to free the Federal Army of Chorus from his blundering but the cliff was a nice place to sit and think. To hide. He wanted to hide for the rest of his miserable life, to shy away from the responsibilities of General Donald Doyle. He knew that he couldn’t but at least, out on that lookout, he could pretend for a little while that he was just Donny.

“Hiding, are we?” A voice asked and Doyle flinched visibly, reaching for his pistol – what good it would do, he wasn’t sure. He relaxed just a bit when he saw it was Locus.

Doyle laughed nervously, turning away from the terrifying soldier, embarrassed that he’d realized exactly what the General was doing. “Just thinking a bit, no need to fret Locus,” he told the merc, his voice quivering a little on the name. “I’ll return soon but thank you for the concern.”

“You mistake my duty for concern, General,” Locus told him, walking closer so he was a shadow of Doyle. “It’s my job to know where you are at all times. It’s my mission to make sure you are well and safe. You are not well,” the mercenary said simply.

Doyle sighed and looked out from his perch. Locus had always had a way of seeing through him, evening when he was wearing his helmet. “Locus, do you ever wonder why we’re here?” the General asked.

“No, Sir,” Locus’ gruff voice said from behind him, making Doyle shiver.

“Well,” he said, turning to look at Locus, helmet to helmet, “I do. I wonder how this all happened and how it’s come down to me to lead this army. I am no soldier, Locus. Someone like you should be leading our troops.” Back then, he’d thought that Locus would’ve been a great leader, he was brave, strong, a perfect soldier. Doyle had been so wrong it was laughable. Locus had known it.

“That’s not true. You speak to your soldiers on a human level, Sir. They respect you,” Locus said and Doyle felt the man’s fierce gaze through his helmet, “but they fear me.”

The General laughed nervously, knowing how his men felt. “You’re a scary sort, Locus.”

“You’re a good leader, Donny,” the merc said and Doyle felt his face flush. Suddenly, they didn’t feel like a General and a Soldier anymore. It was always like that when they were alone together, the pretenses dropped and all that was left was Donny and Sam. 

Doyle huffed quietly as Locus stepped closer into his space. He set his rifle on his back, the magnets and metal clicking quietly, and reached up to his helmet. The helmet decompressed with a gentle hiss and Doyle sucked in a quiet breath because he was pretty sure the only time Locus removed his helmet was for sleep and mealtime. But Locus lifted the helmet just slightly, only enough to free his mouth, and leaned down to press and gentle kiss to the top of Doyle’s helmet. “You’re going to do great things for Chorus,” Locus had whispered like a promise.

Doyle shivered at his desk, pulling himself out of the memory and rubbing his hands over his face. He shouldn’t think about Locus anymore, he knew. He and Felix were the enemy now, not miss Kimball. But he couldn’t get the idea of Locus out of his-

There was a muffled shout from outside of his office and Doyle jumped to alert, pulling out his pistol. Locus had been more adamant in teaching him how to use it – they were in a war after all – so Doyle was a bit more comfortable in using it. He was happy for the training when his door opened quietly and in walked the big green and grey mercenary like he owned the place.

“How did you get in here?” the Doyle demanded without lowering his gun. 

Locus didn’t look concerned as he went right up to the desk, leaning in closer towards the gun. “I used to live within these walls, General. I know how to get in and out of this city without being seen,” the man rumbled quietly, gently, and Doyle flinched. “I missed you too,” he whispered and the words were like a caress.

Doyle grit his teeth and steeled himself against the desire to lower his gun, to jump over the desk, and rip off Locus’ helmet to kiss him. Of course he’d missed the merc, his rock, his shelter during his own storms, but he had to be strong and remember what Locus really was.

“You killed so many of us. You betrayed us. You just wanted to _slaughter_ us,” Doyle hissed, glaring daggers at the place where he thought Locus’ eyes were.

“Yes,” Locus admitted, not even bothering to hide it. Instead, he reached up and pulled off his helmet with a hiss. It came off all the way this time and Doyle’s eyes roamed over the face he’d memorized in his time with the merc. His dark hair was pulled back into his usual ponytail but strands clung to his head with sweat. His cocoa skin was darker over his left cheekbone where a heavy bruise sat. But his eyes were dark and tired, looking aged on the man’s still young face.

Doyle felt like he’d been punched in the gut and sucked in a sharp breath. “What do you want Locus?” he asked, his voice quiet, tired, though his gun stayed level with the mercenary’s chest. 

Locus gave him such a deep look of desperation that the General nearly caved right then. “You, Donny. I want you,” he murmured. “I want you to come with me. Leave Armonia, leave Chorus. I want you to live.”

Doyle visibly flinched and his gun lowered an inch. It was all he’d ever wanted. He’d dreamt of leaving, letting someone else deal with the responsibilities of the Federal Army of Chorus, he’d dreamt of Locus offering to whisk him away to some foreign planet with no war.

He knew now that that was a pipe dream.

“You want me to be a coward,” Doyle said, remembering all of the times he’d called himself that same thing. How easy it’d be to drop the gun, put his hand in Locus’, and flee. But he had a job to do. “No. I can’t leave. I am General Donald Doyle of the Federal Army of Chorus and I cannot and will not abandon my people,” he told Locus, his gaze hard as he lifted his pistol back up again, now aimed right in the center of his face.

Locus snorted softly and gave Doyle a sad smile like he’d expected the answer. “I thought you might say that,” he whispered, almost to himself. He moved around the desk, closer to Doyle who kept his gun trained the entire time, careful not to let Locus get the jump on him. Locus stood in front of him and reached around the gun, laying his gloved hands on either side of Doyle’s face and then they were kissing. The kiss wasn’t heated like some of their others. This kiss wasn’t rushed or hot but rather slow and sweet. It was a kiss of goodbyes.

Locus pulled away and turned sharply, grabbing up his helmet and clasping it back onto his armor. He looked at Doyle one last time in the doorway and Doyle could feel the gentle smile Locus hid under his helmet. “You’re going to do great things for Chorus,” he said and then he was gone. 

That time, Doyle believed him.


End file.
